Conflicting Interests
by RoseRadar
Summary: How the Gryffindor and the Slytherin fell in love: what starts off as tolerating each other, begins to change into something a little more interesting. Hermione/Blaise Fanfic. Slow, therefore believable. Hope you enjoy it. :


**Conflicting Interests**

**How the Gryffindor and the Slytherin fell in love: What starts off as tolerating each other, begins to change into something a little more interesting.**

**I'm not sure how Hermione/Blaise fics are described, Hermini? Blasione? Hermlaise? Any ideas?**

**I quite like Hermini heheh. This is a Hermini.**

**DISCLAIMER: Anyone who is reading this Fanfic, I would hope, has the basic Pub Quiz knowledge that unless I am J.K. Rowling, or Warner Brothers, I do not own anything, other than the plot.**

Chapter One 

Blaise Zabini was, and still is, one of the most calculating students to ever enter Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He calculated exactly how much favour he would earn, by holding the door open for a Professor; he calculated exactly how far he could push a fellow Slytherin with mocking comments, and still get away with it. If there was such a thing as a Calculator of Personal Gain, Blaise would personify that object.

However, that is not to say that Blaise was mechanical or robotic in any large way. Infact, Blaise was a rather deep and complex young man, and in his 5th Year, something happened to open his eyes to a whole new world of possibilities, other than the dark and steady rise in power, that he had previously planned.

All it took was, one moment, to turn on the light.

It was the 1st of September in his 5th year, he had pecked his Mother on the cheek, before walking briskly onto the train, stowing his trunk and owl cage in the same rack, as he always did. In his second year, he had even attached a silver nameplate onto it, accompanied with a warning. It read:

'Property of Blaise Zabini - Use at Your Own Risk,'

Mild though that message may seem, it was an effective reminder of the fate of one bold Gryffindor First Year, who had flippantly shoved his trunk there. Blaise had watched him; a plan of action breeding in his mind, before he dealt with him.

No-one talked about it. This was Blaise Zabini after all; you had to be careful what you said about Blaise. He always seemed to know exactly what was going on, everywhere.

Anyway, the First-year, after being put to rights by St Mungo's, sent Blaise a box of Chocolate Frogs along with a desperate note, as way of a peace treaty. Blaise had let the boy sweat, not answering until the next week; before sending a cold assurance of his agreement, written in his neat, black script. The boy was no trouble to anyone after that.

Blaise smirked at the memory; good times! He began to strut down the narrow corridor of the Hogwart's Express, the train was filling up, and carriage after carriage was filled of excited, high-pitched voices. He finally made his way to the back of the train and found some fellow Slytherins.

He knew who was in there before he entered, as Crabbe and Goyle stood as bouncers on either side of the door; each a huge mountain of muscle. Blaise just strolled up to them in a business-like fashion, nodding at them conservatively. Crabbe's huge hand swung out, scrambling to open the door for Blaise. Blaise nodded curtly again, in thanks.

He could hear the conversation going on, inside the compartment, 'And so Father said,' Draco drawled, his voice rising slightly as he reached the punch-line in his story, 'He said, that the house elf must iron it's ears into a crisp; and that if he saw that bloody creature again, he would have Avada it himself , for taking up space!'

Draco laughed, his father's bluntness when it came to slaves amused him; he couldn't understand how a man of such subtly in torture of humans, could be so unimaginative when it came to The Help. Pansy's laughter trickled in. Blaise felt a shiver down his spine as she did so. Her laughter always had that effect; it was so cold and almost painful to hear. Just like his Mother's.

He stepped inside, with a smirk at Pansy, making his entrance. Behind him he could Crabbe and Goyle guffawing in pride behind him, at having served him well, as the door slid shut. Draco Malfoy was casually spread out of the left hand side of the carriage, his head in Pansy's lap as she eyed Blaise with interest, filing her nails.

'Blaise,' Draco greeted him.

'Draco,' He returned, his smirk exuding confidence as he turned his gaze to Pansy, 'Pansy,' he acknowledged.

Pansy looked at him questioningly 'Blaise,' her voice was quiet, pondering, 'Blaise Zabini, why did you not owl me this summer?' He noticed it was beginning to rise and her eyes were starting to spark with anger. He could see Draco thoroughly enjoying his friend's interrogation, peeking up at his friend's face from his recline on her lap, an eager grin slapped on his face.

Blaise dropped silkily into the seat opposite to her, leaning forward and catching her eyes. He considered his options. There were so many. 1) He could feed her a lie, which would be easy. 2) He could ignore her question, to knock her confidence. Or he could-

'Pansy, I spent the summer waiting for your owl, why did you not write to me?' He whispered, as though upset at discussing the subject.

'Blaise, you said you'd write first!-' She retorted loudly.

'Pansy, you promised you'd write on holiday, so we agreed we'd part until then, I assumed you had moved on, as you never wrote…' He coupled this phrase with a glance to the floor, as though saddened by this.

'Blaise Zabini, I think I wrote half a dozen letters to you-'

'Did you? I'm sure you did my dear,' He continued dismissively, adding, 'But did you actually send them? You know, put it in the beak of your owl? Think now, or did you just hand them to a house elf to deliver?'

She faltered, 'Erm..?' And he knew she was broken; this was an action all Pure-bloods did. They did not want to dirty themselves by frequent association with Magical Creatures like owls.

He completed the conversation with, 'And you know exactly what most house-elves do with our letters? They use them to start the fires in the kitchens. They do not understand why we would use them, rather than the owls or eagles,'

She looked to the floor in shame. It made sense. How could she have been so stupid as to trust the impish thing? Did they really make fires out of her love letters?

Blaise leaned back and watched her body language fall from confident and passionate, to deflated and unsure. He did that in less than 30 seconds, he felt his ego inflating nicely. He had chosen well. Option 3 – Make it all her fault, was always amusing.

Draco suddenly curled himself up into sitting position, mouthing a congratulatory 'Smooth,' at his best mate, Blaise. They smirked in unison, turning to look out of the window for a moment; before getting enthusiastically involved in giving each other, a play-by-play description of the Quidditch match on Saturday.

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger was one of the last students to jump on board of the Hogwart's Express on that September morning. After a hasty hug off Dad and another off her Mother, she found she had to jog towards the train, levitating her trunks and carry-ons onto the train. She stood, just inside the train door, leaning out and waving good-bye, as the train began to pull out of Platform 9 and 3 quarters. Her eyes began to well up as her smiling parents were quickly hidden by the puffs of smoke, as she was pulled away from them. Quickly wiping her eyes, she sniffed and smiled. She had a lot to look forward to; another year at Hogwarts!<p>

Her summer had been hot. She had been on a cruise with her parents for just over 5 of the 7 week holiday. She was now a pleasant golden-brown and her hair had been lightened, and had hints of gold, hidden in its curls, by the hours on deck or in the outside pool. But, she hadn't really changed that much over the summer, she thought. However, she was not expecting to be able to say the same for the boys; she smiled. Each time she saw them, it felt like they had grown another foot, and were so tall she had to measure herself, to make sure that she wasn't shrinking.

She bundled down the busy corridors, hearing the good-natured giggles of the younger years, and almost walked past a particularly rowdy compartment before stopping and remembering her new position.

Her Prefect Badge was shiny and new, pinned proudly on her chest. Quickly she transfigured her hand luggage so it could literally fit in her palm, and shoved it in her pocket. She opened the compartment door with a dramatic flourish; causing the door to slide open and bang.

The 2nd Years stopped jumping on the seats and turned guiltily to see who it was.

'What, exactly do you think you are doing?' She asked coolly, in her best Professor McGonagall impression. She instinctively moved her hands decisively to her hips, in the style of Molly Weasley; knowing that the only way to instil discipline in youngsters was to apply the knowledge and tricks, of older and more skilled disciplinarians.

The 2nd Years looked at each other, hoping to see that someone had a brilliant excuse. No-one did. Finally, one of the little Gryffindor Girls piped up 'We were, um, jumping on the seats, Miss,' All of the other 1st Years rounded on her angrily, and glared at her in outright betrayal, as though Hermione wouldn't have known, had the girl not said anything.

'That much is obvious,' Hermione sniffed, taking a step into the compartment. She stood in silence.

The 2nd Years stood, frozen, still climbed on top of their seats. Eventually, one of them began to slither down, sliding into the sitting position. Immediately everyone else followed suit.

Hermione had the urge to laugh, it was all fairly ridiculous. She forced herself to remain stern. Slowly, she moved her eyes across each of their faces 'I am disappointed,' she mused aloud, deadly serious, 'But I'd hate to take off points before Term begins…'

They all looked relieved, and began to smile gratefully. 'I'm not finished,' She said loudly, 'In return, I do expect, a foot long scroll of parchment, answering adequately 'Why I won't jump on train seats in the future', from each and every one of you. I expect this by tomorrow evening.'

They all began to grimace, but she tutted; 'Oh dear… Well, there is another alternative; would you prefer to help Professor Hagrid out?'

They all nodded enthusiastically, 'Yes please, Miss!'

She added innocently, 'I hear he has Blast-Ended Skrewts and a Man-Eating Sphinx for this term,'

'We'll do the essays!' was the overwhelming reply.

She nodded, 'I want all-'She counted the number of culprits, 'Nine essays in my hand by 6 o'clock tomorrow evening, without fail.' She memorised each face, and their house, before adding quietly, 'Any later, and Hagrid's creatures shall be the least of your worries,' Before sweeping out of the room, her robes, billowing behind her dramatically, copying Snape's decisive stride to the tee, and leaving the Second Years, fighting over quills and parchment. Each trying to finish the essay and avoid Hagrid's *unusual* creatures and The Prefect's wrath…

Hermione was just searching for Harry and Ron, when someone swung out of a compartment directly in front of her, knocking her slightly, and catching her off-balance. She hopped slightly, the jolting movement of the train not aiding her recovery of balance. A hand lightly caught her shoulder and she finally managed to plant both feet safely and solidly on the ground.

She looked up to see who her assailant and saviour was, expecting it to be Harry or Ron – from their height and build. But, to her utter astonishment, instead of meeting the hazel eyes of Ron, or the startling green eyes of Harry; she found herself gazing into a pair of deep chocolate eyes above her. It was Blaise Zabini. All in one instant she found her mind whirring at a hundred miles an hour; a thousand voices picking up the tiniest details.

They were the only people in the corridor, but, around them; she could distantly hear the shouts of laughter and giggles from the various compartments nearby. The noise was loud yet quiet, in a weird sort of way, almost like the back-ground music in grocery shops. She was brought back to the present as the door he had sprung out of, slid shut with a crash.

He let go of her, his face still held an echo of concern for her; and the nerve-endings in her shoulder screamed that his hand had remained on her skin, a fraction of a second too long. Why had he not pushed her away immediately? She answered that question for herself, it was easy, shock; at seeing 'the Mudblood,' so early in the morning.

'Granger,' he acknowledged, hearing his voice and realising how his greetings were quite formulaic; no hellos, no spontaneous jokes. He had to think about this at greater length.

He could see the slight 'deer-in-the-headlights' flash of shock on her face at his overall politeness. Swiftly she pulled her mask together and responded in a business-like fashion, 'Thank you, Zabini,' Inwardly she punched herself for thanking a Slytherin, and was waiting; eyes downcast, for the torrent of teasing to begin. None came.

'That's quite alright,' He replied, his voice as smooth as hers. He stood awkwardly for a moment, but soon, she looked up, and realised she was blocking his path, before hurriedly standing to one side to allow him to pass; he did so, with a small nod; and she was left shell-shocked and bewildered at what had just happened.

Hermione had never really spoken to Blaise Zabini; he was one of those kids who sat in class, didn't really answer questions unless it would directly impress and mainly seemed to concentrate, taking copious notes. Hermione had once glanced at an essay of his, sitting on Professor Binns' desk, waiting to be marked. It was on the Goblin Revolution of 1756; she had briefly flicked through it and had been shocked to see he had drawn similar conclusions from Professor Binns' laborious lectures, something that she had in common with no-one else. Perhaps this was partly with the fact that everyone else fell asleep in History of Magic. Hermione had shrugged and just thanked her stars that there were other hard-workers in the universe, and carried on with her day

Until today, they had never spoken a word to one another. He wasn't even that close to Malfoy; as far as Hermione could gather, Zabini and Malfoy seemed to be Equals. By this she meant, that Slytherins didn't really have friends; they had their inferiors, equals and their Superiors. So, to her, it seemed like Malfoy and Zabini were almost like business partners, cooperating on their own terms.

But, other than that, she hadn't really noticed him; he did visit the Library a lot, and always sat in the same corner, with an east-facing window that over-looked the Lake; surrounded by Transfiguration Books. She had often wondered whether he needed help, but instantly had decided, he wouldn't accept it if she offered.

Hermione began to walk, as though in a daze through the corridor, continuing in a more leisurely fashion, her search for her friends.

* * *

><p>Blaise was in high spirits as he sat there with Draco discussing Quidditch, the day had gone quite well. He had knocked Pansy down a peg or two, his ownership of his rack had remained unchallenged; and he had hinted Draco in the right direction for some rather shrewd investments; which had, in turn, re-established the mutual respect between the two, which had lapsed over the summer.<p>

However, Pansy clearly wanted to make Blaise jealous by petting Draco, rubbing his shoulder, and perching on his lap, before murmuring husky words in his ear. He smirked, but shrugged her off. They had both had her before, she was nothing new. 'We can discuss that later, Parkinson,' he drawled; scanning her curvy figure, walking away with mild interest.

She slammed the door shut, immediately entering the compartment opposite where the majority of the Slytherin girls seemed to be sat. Zabini and Malfoy looked at each other, their eyes alight with genuine humour/ After a moment Blaise stood up, stretching slightly, 'I'm going to look for the trolley, do you want anything?' he asked. Malfoy nodded, 'A couple of Liquorice Wands and a Pumpkin Pie, if you see them,'

Blaise nodded and left the compartment, jumping over Malfoy's hand luggage and brooms, which had slid towards the Entrance, in the short time the train had been moving.

He had barely landed in the Corridor, before he felt someone collide with him. He spun, his reactions from being the Slytherin Keeper for the last 3 years kicking in. He threw out a hand to stop the girl falling; before realising the girl was Hermione Granger.

But she didn't look like Hermione Granger.

Long gone was the pale, sallow girl he had known last year. There was something radiant about this young woman. Her skin had a sun-kissed glow and her hair, still fell in those crazy curls, but even they had hints of gold running through them. She was slightly taller as well, nothing on him of course, but one wouldn't expect her to be.

He glanced down at her figure; noting the indentations of curves under the rippling materials of her robes.

They had exchanged a brief greeting before she had flung herself to one side to allow him to pass. He couldn't take his eyes off her, but he had swept past; forcing himself, not to look back.

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter is sort of 'a-getting-to-know-you' and I hope you have noted how I've changed Hermione slightly. She is still Hermione, but there is an edge of Slytherin, in her dealings with the rowdy 2<strong>**nd**** years. I intend in later chapters to slowly build Hermini's relationship. **

**I am looking for a Beta, as I find grammar and 'not-missing-words-out,' really difficult.**

**I would be really grateful for advice and reviews, but no flamers please. I don't think they're constructive criticism, therefore not useful.**

**Thank you for reading so far,**

**RoseRadar xxx**


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